


Secretly

by MystWords



Series: Pupcake Patchwork [2]
Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:53:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23632651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MystWords/pseuds/MystWords
Summary: Part II of the Pupcake Patchwork series.
Relationships: Delia Busby & Patsy Mount, Delia Busby/Patsy Mount
Series: Pupcake Patchwork [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1693711
Comments: 7
Kudos: 36





	Secretly

**I Love You Secretly – The Miracles**

“When we meet I feel guilty.

Beause I want for you to long for me

Like I long for you.

…

And maybe try to understand

I’m just a man

Who’s possessed with loneliness.”

Trixie is going to be utterly unbearable.

You know it deep down in your bones and yet it doesn’t stop you. It’s 6am, dark, rain drizzling outside and you’re standing here, in your kitchen, finger about to flip the switch. And she’ll hear. Trixie will hear and then she will come out and she will ask what you are doing. And then she’ll gloat, eyes twinkling in merriment at your apparent acquiescence.

You bite your lip, a flash of blue making you grit your teeth and flip the switch. The blender bursts to life.

Kale. What creature from hell thought it would be a good idea to put _kale_ and _protein powder_ in a smoothie with fruit for breakfast? Milk has plenty of protein, thank you very much. And taste. And it’s made from an animal that eats grass.

You crinkle your noise, imagining having to force this vile concoction down. Trixie walks out of her room, leaning against the counter.

“And just what do you think you’re doing, Patience?”

“Making us breakfast,” you say, shrugging your shoulders and hoping in vain the conversation would end as the blender begins to quieten down. You have a strong impression that the awful noise the motor makes will be equal to Trixie’s voice throughout this conversation.

“You’re making us breakfast. And just what is for breakfast?”

“A smoothie.”

“A smoothie? Really? I distinctly remember you stating, and just to be clear, I am quoting you, ‘if God wanted me to eat grass, he would have made me a cow’ whilst you were eating a bowl of Cheerios in your pyjamas and preparing to go out for a cigarette.”

“Yes, well, I changed my mind.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” you say, gritting your teeth, glaring at the mixture you begin to pour into two glasses. It’s thick and green and _you_ have to _drink_ it. “I figure that it’s like medicine. The worse it tastes, the better it is for you.”

“Since when do you care about your health? I’ve been trying for years to get you to do that.”

You turn around, avoiding looking at Trixie as you hand her a glass and eye yours.

You can do this. You can drink this down and tell Trixie what you’ve done. You wonder if it’s inappropriate to hold your nose and down it. Could you down it? It’s so…thick. Maybe it’d choke you to death. Yes, you can imagine the headline now ‘death by smoothie chugging’. At least you would be remembered for something. Maybe then he would see, and your point would be made. Exercise and eat healthily but die anyway.

He wouldn’t care, though, would he.

“Patience,” Trixie says, and you look up at her as she stands, arms crossed as much as possible with a glass in her hand as she taps her foot.

“Oh, yes,” you say, taking a moment to recall what she’d said. “Yes, I just-I just thought you were right. In the end,” you say, forcing yourself not to grit your teeth. You eye the concoction in your hand once more before taking a sip. It takes everything in you to keep your face neutral as you begin to register the grassy taste over taking the sweetness.

“See. Medicine,” you say, holding up the glass and attempting a smile.

How? How do people drink this _everyday_?

Trixie looks at you, watchful as she takes you in from head to toe.

“Are my eyes deceiving me or are you wearing fitness attire?” she asks, and you roll your eyes at her bewilderment.

“I have been known to exercise. Occasionally,” you finish, biting your lip.

“Yes, normally after I’ve had to coax you out for days and promise you a takeaway for your pains.”

You resist the urge to tell Trixie coax and nag are not synonyms. You can’t upset her. As much as you don’t want to admit it, you do need her help.

“Yes, well. Turning over a new leaf and all that. Come on, Trix, chop, chop.”

“Am I actually awake? I’m dreaming, aren’t I? Have I entered the Twilight Zone?”

You roll your eyes.

“We both know you don’t really know what the Twilight Zone is.”

“But Pats, you _want_ to go for a run.”

You don’t. You really don’t but you _need_ to go for one. You need to get fitter like you used to be and you need to wait until Trixie is a bit more exhausted to tell her why you need to fitter.

You take another sip of grass.

“Come on, drink up and get your shoes on.”

Trixie stops.

“Don’t drink it all, Pats. Drink the other half after we’ve done our 5k.”

“5k?”

“Yes, well you are joining me for my short Monday jaunt around London.”

“Short?”

“Yes, it’s my shortest run of the week.”

You swallow. Maybe you should cut your losses. You knew it was a long shot from the beginning but now. 5k? Short? Drink half of that _after._ It’s too much.

You need a cigarette.

*

“Isn’t the steady thump of your feet hitting the pavement so meditative?” Trixie says.

You don’t have the energy to frown. You’re hot. Despite the drizzling rain, your cheeks feel on fire and you’re sweating, calves burning almost as much as your lungs as you huff in a breath. Past Patsy would have done this with ease just to please him.

What have you done? Why are you doing this?

Trixie breezily drifts a long and you feel like a baby elephant learning to walk beside her. It’s embarrassing. You can’t show up like this in front of _her._ Even Phyllis could run rings around you. No disrespect to the senior nurse but you’re younger. And you’re a doctor. A doctor. Not to mention, you used to do all this and more.

Trixie stops and stands next to you outside the door to your flat. You begin to wonder if there is a God as you finally, finally get the chance to catch your breath and then you remember the smoothie sitting in the fridge.

You resist a groan and look up. Trixie watches you.

“You know, Pat’s, you did much better than I was expecting but I can’t help but wonder why the change of heart?”

You shrug.

“Can’t a girl change her mind?”

“Well, yes but you were so vehemently against this. I never imagined you even could change your mind.”

“I live to surprise,” you say, wiping your sweaty hands on your top before digging out the door key.

Trixie scoffs.

You both know you don’t.

“I will get the answer out of you, Patience Mount. Just you wait.”

You ignore her as you swing open the fridge door and begin chugging down the smoothie. The smoothie that’s even thicker than before and clogging up your throat and you begin to cough, eyes watering, throat burning.

Trixie pats your back as you look up, a smile firmly on her face as she reaches for her own breakfast.

You ignore Trixie’s inquisitive gaze and head for a shower.

You should have said no, should have refused those baby blues and that dimpled smile. But how could you? They _needed_ you, she said. It’s for charity, she said. Really all she needed to do was smile and you’d agree, and she did.

You almost laugh out loud at the surprise on Barbara’s face as you’d readily acquiesced to Delia’s request.

Delia.

Beautiful, smart, funny, adorable Delia who has no idea just what she can get you to do simply by asking. You’ve always been told your aloof, cold, distant. Your childhood trained you to be and it’s served you well. Especially when you want to hide things from everyone. Like a crush. A crush that simultaneously weighs you down and lifts you up.

She could never like you, least of all when you’re like this. You’ve heard her and Lucille talk about their dream partners. Dream partners that were always smart and kind and strong and funny. In your head you’ve added beautiful and healthy and not you to Delia’s list. That’s why you’d snapped at them that “men aren’t the end all and be all”. Then you’d taken a box each of cupcakes and a rather sorry expression with you to their flat apologise after a suitable amount of self-chastisement, and a few choice words from Trixie about your behaviour.

What you wouldn’t give to see the smile on her face she gifted you with after you stumbled through your apology, every day.

Yes, that’s why you agreed to this torture.

A tough mudder.

  1. Mudder.



Exercise and dirt and strangers. Sweaty dirty strangers potentially touching you.

Hell.

You committed yourself to 10 miles of hell for a smile from a girl that will never like you back.

You’re mad.

*

You’re absolutely, positively, 100% certified insane in your opinion.

5 days this week. 5 days this week you’ve been running. You’ve waking up early and running and being healthy and Trixie is still suspicious of you. She eyes you every morning for a few moments, lips pursed until you hand over another smoothie, with as little kale as much as possible.

How she doesn’t know, yet, you don’t know. Perhaps Barbara and Delia have just been too busy, but you know you need to say something. And soon. Especially since she just spotted you walking into the local gym. The local gym you stupidly forgot she goes too, as well. On a Saturday, no less.

Yes, you’ve been running for 5 days this week and now you’re going the _gym_ as well.

Trixie is indeed going to be unbearable but for now, you ignore her and trundle behind Matt. Matt and his big muscles as he leads you towards a space with a turf strip, and a piece of equipment on it it soon becomes apparent you add weight too.

“This is called a Prowler or a sled depending on what you want to call it. Great bit of kit for conditioning. Using this, some kettlebells and plyometric box, you can make a great HIIT circuit to get the blood going. Or you could do some push ups, squats, use some dumbbells. There’s just a lot we can do in this small space.”

You frown.

Is he speaking English? When _he_ trained you, it was just run, run, run. Faster, faster, faster. Push ups and squats were reserved for punishment when you were too slow, or too tired, or displeased _him._

You nod along as he runs through some exercise demonstrations before getting you to give them a go.

“Right. So we’ll start with the sled, add a bit of weight and I want you to push it for two lengths, then we’ll do eight kettlebell swings before finishing with some push ups. Sound good?”

You resist the urge to quip back that no, it doesn’t sound good. Not a single bit. Instead you watch him add a huge looking weight to the sled before walking over.

“25kg alright?” You nod. “Like I said, push this there and back, twice before eight kettlebell swings and ten push ups. That’ll be one set and ideally, you want to do this 4-5 times and work up, adding weight, doing more sets. Progressively making it harder. Of course, I’ll show you some other exercises you can build into a circuit. This’ll be great for your conditioning and functional strength, especially with the tough mudder you’ve got planned in a couple of months. You’ll be ready for it in no time.”

You say nothing as he trundles off to pick out a kettlebell for you. He hovers over the 12kg and you narrow your eyes. You sigh in relief as he settles on the 8kg.

“Ready?”

“Ready,” you say, beginning to push the sled.

You’re not ready.

You’re really not ready.

It burns. Your arse burns like Satan wanted a laugh and set it on fire.

“Come on, Patsy. You’re doing great, keep going. Forward, forward, forward for as long as it takes,” Matt says, clapping his hands for each “forward”. “It’s not about speed at this point, just power through.” Maybe you’ve found and hired the devil for the next eight weeks. He sure sounds like the Devil from your past, right now.

You grit your teeth. Why isn’t the damned thing moving any quicker? Has it really been that long?

“Kettlebell swings, next. Come on, eight to go and then all that’s left is push ups.”

You pant as you begin the next move.

“That’s it, chest up. It’s all in the hips. You’re doing great.”

You focus, counting down in your head as you try to ignore the burn emanating from your derrière, your thighs, your hamstrings. Maybe your shorts are on fire? They must be.

“Come on, push ups, next. Go to your knees if you need to. We’ll have you doing full body ones in no time.”

“How many?”

“Ten.”

Ten. Ten bloody push ups. Apparently, you really have hired the devil for the next eight weeks.

Pride means you start doing full body push ups. Your body means that after the first one, you drop to your knees.

When did you get so weak? He would have never let you end up like this. Maybe that’s why you have.

“Right. All warmed up?”

“Definitely,” you say with your hands on your hips as you catch your breath.

“Like I said, you ideally want to be doing this for a couple more sets but for now, we’ll get you doing some strength-based exercises, just to gage where you’re at. Sound good?”

“Sounds great,” you say, failing to mask the distinct note of sarcasm ringing in your voice.

Matt smirks.

You turn to follow and catch sight of Trixie unashamedly staring at you, eyebrow raised. You shrug and endure the next 45 minutes of torture in aggressive silence.

By the time you’re finished, you arms and legs feel more akin to jelly than limbs, there’s a layer of sweat coating your skin and you had the rather unfortunate misfortune of licking your lips and tasting the sweaty saltiness on your tongue.

“Patience Elizabeth Mount,” you hear as you head towards the shower and you want to bang your head against the wall until you pass out. “I’ve given you time to tell me what on earth is going on and you haven’t but now? Now I demand to know the answer. You’re running, eating healthily and coming to the gym. Don’t you think after all the years we’ve known each other I deserve to know what on earth is going on?”

You turn. Trixie is standing, arms crossed as she clenches her jaw. Something flashes across her face, something you rarely see that has you heading back towards the lockers and slouching onto a bench. There’s a lot you’ve kept from her about your past, but she’s known everything you’ve done since you met in University.

You were always going to tell her.

You might as well do it now before you hurt her.

“De-I, er, I’m part of the tough mudder team.”

“Excuse me?”

“I agreed to be part of the team. You see, Barbara was her usual self and managed to break a leg, quite literally and I was asked to fill in.”

“And you agreed.”

You nod your head, looking down at your hands.

“Ah, I see.”

You look up, frowning and Trixie’s knowing look.

“Hmm?”

“Sweetie, I know you can keep things from rather a lot of people, but I know you.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“A certain brunette with a distinctly Welsh accent asked you, didn’t she?”

You narrow your eyes as your heartbeat picks up, once again.

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Patience, you’re rather more transparent to me than you seem to think.”

“What?”

“But that’s neither here nor there,” she says, standing and clapping her hands before squealing. “I’ll make us a diet plan and workout regime. Maybe you could join my keep fit and yoga classes, too. Oh, Pats, it’ll be so much fun.”

You groan, internally.

“And we can invite the others for weekly planning sessions.”

“Planning sessions?”

“Why of course. Sweetie, we have to co-ordinate our outfits.”

“Outfits?”

“Yes, we may well be wearing our exercise outfits and delving in to pits of mud but there’s nothing wrong with us looking as fabulous as possible doing so.”

You roll your eyes.

“This isn’t a fashion show.”

“Of that I’m quite aware.”

“We’re going to be diving into pits of mud. Oh, God. We’re going to be covered in dirt and sweat. And Trixie, it’ll get everywhere.”

“Calm down, Sweetie.”

“Calm down? Mud is like sand. It gets into all nooks and crannies. _All_ nooks and crannies.”

“I’m quite aware of that.”

You groan.

“Why did I agree to this?” you say, covering your face.

“Because you, Patience Mount, give your all when you care about someone.”

Your head snaps up and you remove your hands.

“And just what is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Now go clean yourself up. You’re going to be sore in the morning. You’ll be grateful for the late afternoon yoga class.”

“The what?”

“You’re pretty sweaty, Sweetie. You might want to clean yourself up. How about a treat night, tonight? Pizza? Indian? We could even invite the girls,” Trixie says, getting herself ready for a shower.

“Surely some of them will be working?”

“Luckily for us, we’re all free for the first time in months.”

You head towards the shower, towel in hand.

“Meet you outside for a cigarette,” she shouts, and you voice your agreement.

Nicotine will be a welcome relief.

*

You’re slouched on the sofa with an empty glass in hand, muscles progressively aching more and more when Barbara stumbles through the door, hanging from Tom’s arm for support.

“Right, just give me call when you need me to pick you up,” he says, grinning at Barbara. “But for now, enjoy time with the girls.”

The lovesick fools.

You roll your eyes as you meet Trixie’s gaze. She grins.

“God forbid you can’t make it down the street on your own,” you quip as the door shuts behind Tom.

Barbara gently knocks your arm as she ambles past.

“I happen to think it’s quite sweet of him.”

“Yes, well, sweet or not, it’s girls night tonight, Sweetie. Sit down and I’ll get you a drink. What’ll it be? Strawberry Daiquiri? Tequila Sunrise?”

You smirk as you catch sight of Barbara’s grimace.

“Lemonade?”

“Barbara.”

“Oh, do leave the girl alone, Trix. If she wants lemonade, let her have it. One Scotch on the rocks for me, please and thank you,” you say, holding the empty glass formerly filled with water.

“There’s a surprise. You really are rather a creature of habit. Couldn’t I interest you in anything more exciting?”

“No,” you deadpan, and Trixie rolls her eyes, grumbling until there’s another knock on the door.

“Oh, that’ll be the others,” Trixie says, handing you your drink before opening the door.

“Welcome to Casa Franklin Mount, ladies.”

You look at Barbara, bewildered as a chorus of greetings ensues.

“Casa Franklin Mount?”

“Yes, it has a ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“It makes us sound like a bloody married couple.”

“Oh, do come off it, Pats. Everyone knows us better than that.”

“She’s right, Pats. Everyone knows you two would never work,” a certain Welsh bea-Delia says, and you relax back into your seat, taking a sip of your drink as Delia parks herself beside you.

You turn and smile at the grin she throws your way.

“I haven’t seen you around much this week, Pats. Everything okay?”

You nod, looking at your glass as everyone talks around you both.

“I’ve been rather busy preparing for the tough mudder.”

“Really? I thought someone that looked like you would be more than prepared for it.”

You roll your eyes as she winks at you, your heartbeat turning you into a cliché as it picks up speed. Through sheer force of will you keep the red tint threatening to heat your cheeks at bay and look back at your glass.

“I’m afraid I’m a little out of practise. It’s been a few years.”

“With legs like yours, I’d never know.”

You shrug.

“So, what will it be, Delia? Can I interest you in a cocktail? I’m really rather good at making them.”

“I’m afraid not. I’ve an early shift and Phyllis would be less than impressed if I showed up with a headache.”

“You girls are no fun.”

“Oi.”

“Except Val of course. One Long Island Iced Tea coming right up.”

“Looking forward to it.”

You shake your head and take another sip of your drink.

“When’s the food arrivin’. I’m starvin’.”

“Valerie,” Lucille says, nudging Val with her elbow.

“I agree. Trixie, when is the food arriving?”

“Oh, do be patient. We’ve yet to decide what we’re even having?”

“You mean you haven’t even ordered?” you say with a frown.

“Patience is a virtue,” Trixie quips.

“In my opinion, Patience is a waste of time,” you say, beginning to rise. “I’m going for a cigarette. Order what you like.”

“I’ll be joinin’ you, if you don’t mind,” Val says.

You shrug.

“Don’t you think you should both give up smoking for your own health. You’re a nurse and you,” Lucille says, looking at you. “You’re a doctor.”

“Whenever I think of quitting, I need a cigarette,” you say. “And besides, we all have our vices. I don’t tell you to quit yours.”

“Here, here,” Val says, and you hear her footsteps following you to the door. “You comin’, Darlin’?”

“No, it’s quite alright. Us four are going to decide what’s for dinner and I shall order, as you’ve both made it quite clear how hungry you are.”

You pause and turn, meeting Val’s panicked expression. If those four were left to decide, who knows what you would end up with.

“On, er, second thought, perhaps me and Patsy here can wait five minutes.”

“Yes, I quite agree.”

Delia narrows her eyes as you slump down next to her, looking rather bashful under her gaze.

“Pizza?” you say in response and she shakes her head, lips pursed, and you wonder why she looks so upset with you.

“I vote a kebab.”

“Really, Val. A kebab? Most people don’t even know what goes into the meat.”

“Yeah but Trix, they taste good.”

“Oh, I vote Papa Johns. They do the best giant cookies.”

“Barb, you do know you’re supposed to share the cookie, right?”

“But you always say you prefer savoury to sweet.”

“That may be the case, Darlin’ but you need to have something besides sugar every now and again.”

“Oh, leave the girl be,” you say, once again standing up for Barbara. “She’s a grown woman. If she wants to eat pure sugar tonight, leave her to it. I vote Papa Johns, too.”

“Yes, well, I vote for Mrs B’s fish and chips,” a Welsh voice interjects, and you turn to look at her as she glares down at you.

What have you done?

“Oh, good choice. Lucille, that just leaves you. It’s a tie between pizza or fish and chips. What’ll it be?”

Lucille takes a few minutes to think on it.

“Fish and chips. It’s the best of British, after all.”

“Great, chippy it is. Now that’s sorted, I’ll have cod and chips. Plenty of salt and vinegar.”

“Oh, good choice,” you say, agreeing with Val. “I’ll have the same.”

Both of you head outside.

You sigh in relief as the first hit of nicotine enters your lungs, and the evening breeze soothes you. You’ve committed to it but you wish you hadn’t. It reminds you too much of time spent with him. Eating unhealthy food, never exercising…those things never made you think of him.

And now? Now you’re doing this for a pretty girl with a pretty smile and she, she’s annoyed with you.

For nothing.

You’re going to march up there and tell her you’re not doing it. They’ll have to find someone else. You tried but it’s not for you. Trixie will be unsurprised, at least and there’s still time to find a replacement. Or not. Why do they even need you?

You take another puff of your cigarette, the fist of your chest unclenching which each breath.

Val stands in silence and you look at her. She’s never this quiet…except for now. Now, she looks at the street, watches people walk and cars drive by.

“Are you okay?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you the same thing? You’ve been a bit tetchy tonight.”

You shrug.

“I’m just tired. Between work and my current exercise regime, I seem to be lacking adequate time to sleep,” you say.

You don’t say that you see his face more and more the healthier you get. That each time you hear your feet pounding against the pavement you hear his voice.

_Faster, Patience. Faster._

You close your eyes and it’s a quiet moment between you and him. One where he would stare you down until you gave in, dropped to the floor and began your punishment, arms burning as you lowered your body down before pushing back up.

The years melt away. You’re physically weaker now than then and he’s still there.

“Make sure you get some sleep, yeah, Pats?” Val says and your eyes snap open as you look at her. “It won’t do you no good to burn out, now, will it?” she finishes, one hand squeezing your arm before she heads in.

You stay facing the street as the door to your building closes. You hear someone shuffling closer and tense, goose bumps erupting over your skin until you hear the familiar lilt of your favourite voice.

“You’re being rather rude tonight.”

You throw your cigarette to the floor, looking down at it as you use your foot to put it out.

“I hope you’re going to pick that up.”

You are but for now, you’re going to watch the world go by for a little bit longer.

“Are you going to speak?”

You shrug and she sighs, moving closer until she’s in front of you.

You continue looking to the floor.

“Pats, what’s wrong?”

You clench your jaw.

“Cariad, please. Tell me what’s wrong.”

You look up and see the downturn of her lips, the gleam in her eye, the pleading in her upturned palms, and you use all your strength to muster up a small, encouraging smile.

“Maybe one day, Deels but not today.”

“Pats.”

“I promise, just give me a hug and it’ll all be okay.”

“Pats.”

“Please, Deels,” you say, and you know she gets it.

You’ve never asked anyone for this.

“Come here, Cariad,” she says, opening her arms. “If all I can give you is a cwtch, take as many as you like,” she whispers in your ear.

You burrow into her neck and the scent of her relax you.

Delia shivers.

“Pats, your nose is like ice. Let’s get you in the warm,” she says pulling away and rubbing your arms.

You hadn’t noticed the bite to the air leaching away your body heat.

She takes hold of your hand and you shuffle along behind her. Her touch purifies you, begins to sterilise the germ of him that lives inside your brain. 

**Author's Note:**

> It started off fun, ended up with a bit of angst. Curse me! Also, the song referenced is so relevant to these two. It's originally about an interracial relationship so you can perhaps see why!
> 
> Looking forward to the next installment from the wonderful ChipsintheChapel. And the one after, written by someone whom I'll let Chips reveal! Scratch that, I'm looking forward to every installment! Great to be back writing something other than an essay. 
> 
> I hope everyone is keeping safe during this tumultuous time. It'll be hard but we'll get through this. Be well and look after yourselves.


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